apparently this song and band is pretty popular...popular as in, people other than me, a handful of bloggers and hardcore indiepop kids have heard of them, as in they are played on the radio and people who listen to the radio would know who they are. Popular as in...I heard this song on one of those myspace celebrity like people's page and thought it was interesting, and then forgo the name of the artist/song and then heard it played in the bookstore where I work one time when the store was set to a poppopopop station and finally looked up the lyrics and found the song. Finally.

anyway. I'm not sure why, but I like this song a lot. Like listen to it on repeat a lot alot. The lyrics? Maybe? Wish I was more masculine...I want to swim away but don't know how? Maybe? Maybe it's that idea of..escape. Maybe it's just that, I haven't heard a good catchy pop song in a while. Not like powerpop Hey Hey You You pop but just, kind of scene kind of emo kind of alternative pop. The sort that suggests suicide for a love long gone and rain...into the ocean end it all.

This is anthem for a girl who was once seventeen, who, hears a song on the radio, and remembers the past. The future with its glass buildings and high heels and smudged mascara, cities and lights, a distant reminder closing in...of a past spent holding hands with a best friends, laying on the dew tinted grass at night, tracking a ladybug's progress on a thin twig. A past where her bedroom was the center of her universe, snapped polaroids pinned on walls a musty rose paint. This song is a reminder of all the possibilities, a sky stretching with the pins of a billion stars, it's a surrounding image, it's a time traveling moment, it's a nonstop enchanting song about a girl whose favorite thing is snow...snow, and being alone.

There's something to be said about broken items. Hearts, glass, dreams, robots.

There's something to be said about this sort of vintage-y electronica. Pop and minimal, and all repetition and these little bleeps of sound. This echoing, male and female vocals, balancing with dark undertones, unspoke accusations, plain words not with malice but with something like resignation? Acceptance?

And oh, when the boy rambles, in that faintly bitter tone of his, a continuous stream of words over these backing, pressuring da da da's (don't worry, it's less cute than it sounds), it seems the story is summed up with perfection.

It's not just procrastination. Or the lack of anything to say (or ways of saying it). Although, yes, those come into play, somewhat, always.

It might simply be fear.

Because when you settle down, reach a decision, finally make a post that details your mission in a blog--not to listen to every promo song ever and hand pick the ones that are mediocre to relatively good, to only share those songs that are worth something, something personal, it's a decision to reveal a lot more of myself.

Revealing myself has been a constant in my life lately--but only to a diary no one will read, to a mind no one can see through, to people I'll never truly meet.

Songs have become something more, again. Every line resonates within something personal, something I'm afraid to explore.

So. Stop speaking in abstracts. Stop thinking in vague terms.

Here's a song, a delightful song, a catchy song, a stuck in your mind, chorus repeating, singalong, upbeat, Swedish indie pop song. A song that seems to represent so much of my life, at least some aspects of it. At least enough to become more than just a catchy pop song.

It sums it up, all too well. Those cheery trumpets, that snapping melody, the fickle piano, Maia's voice, self assured, sass tinted...except for those few lines, of course. Those few lines of honesty, of revealing vulnerability, truth underneath this outward whatever. The exclamation marks of stopping points, climatic moments in a conversation. Don't say I'm desperate, I'm not! But she is. And no matter how hard the righteous chorus, the girlfriend at home, the pleas from the boy, the drinking all night long...it's all too simple, it's all too apparent. I wish I had not been here before.